


Taking One For The Team

by ultharkitty



Series: Problems with Combaticons (fallout from the Spare Parts Incident) [1]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Other, Plug and Play Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-23
Updated: 2011-08-23
Packaged: 2017-10-23 00:07:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/244075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultharkitty/pseuds/ultharkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Combaticons tried to seize control of the Decepticons and send Earth hurtling into the Sun, Megatron reprogrammed them to be more loyal. This is a story about what happened next.</p><p>Content advice: p'n'p, implied sexual assault, violence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taking One For The Team

**Author's Note:**

> This is set directly after ‘The Revenge of Bruticus’, so it’s before Swindle sells his team mates into slavery – hence they don’t have any particular reason to hate him (too much) just yet, although he might have a few reasons not to be too fond of them.
> 
> This is a new version of the story, because after almost two years of writing about these guys, a few points in the older version didn't exactly mesh.

" _What_ exactly are you doing?" Onslaught leant on the doorjamb, arms crossed.

The scene was priceless; he'd forgotten that Vortex had the potential to look guilty. Brawl lay spread-eagled over a workbench, legs dangling off one end. Vortex had frozen, poised over his team mate's open abdomen, talons deep in Brawl's innards.

"Uh," Vortex said.

"Don't stop!" Brawl wailed, kicking Vortex hard in the thigh. "It _itches_!"

"Oh Sigma, tell me he hasn't got rust," Onslaught said.

"No," said Vortex, slowly. A soft scritching sound emerged from Brawl's chest cavity. "He certainly doesn't have rust."

Onslaught sighed. "Then what's wrong with him?"

"Can't you feel it?" Brawl gasped. "Left a bit, over a bit, oh yeah, that's getting it!"

"Can't say that I can," Onslaught replied. "Vortex, I'm not going to repeat myself."

"Bit busy here," Vortex responded. He bent down, his head vanishing between the flaps of Brawl's open chest plates. His rotors spun slowly, juddering with the impact of whatever it was his hands were doing.

Onslaught waited. After a while, Vortex pinged him on a secure frequency.

//So, what is it?// Onslaught asked.

//Our new programming,// Vortex said. //Like someone dipped my processors in acid. Brawl's got it worse.//

//Ah,// Onslaught replied, //I see.// He approached the worktable. Brawl's head was back, a grimace on his bare faceplates. Vortex continued to scratch at the coating of his databanks, talons working along wires and connectors, scraping over circuit boards. The tank's laser core pulsed, far too close to Vortex's claws, but Brawl didn't seem to mind.

"Is that his CPU?" Onslaught asked aloud.

"Screamer thought it was a more appropriate location than his head," Vortex responded. "Ain't that right, Brawlie?"

"Shut the frag up," Brawl growled, "and _keep scratching!_ "

"Huh." Onslaught didn't bother to ask how Vortex knew; the copter had a habit of finding things out. Considering Brawl's propensity for mindless violence, Starscream had probably made a wise choice. "Just don't break anything," Onslaught added.

Vortex looked up, a stray wire dangling from the corner of his mouth. One side of his visor dimmed for a moment, a wink. "Would I do a thing like that?"

 

* * * 

 

Swindle fidgeted. Narrow freakin' bandwidth. Disgusting little planet didn’t even have an Internet. What was up with that? Instead, he was forced to bounce his signal through their pathetic excuse for a networked system. No wireless pulse, no 3D input terminal. It was barbaric.

At least it got him past the ship’s firewall and into the console at the Space Bridge. Technically, he wasn’t meant to be able to access the intergalactic web. But here he was.

Oh, he'd kill for a good, clean link to Nebulos right now. Waiting whole astroseconds for each page to load was playing merry hell with his sensor net. And as for his focus, he could hardly tell which way was up, let alone key in the codes to access his dormant bank accounts.

He glanced at the security camera. Soundwave was bound to send the boys around sooner or later. Swindle could only hope that Thrust was right, and that Soundwave was finally on his recharge cycle.

Seriously, how long could the slagger go without downtime? It was wrong, that's what it was. Wrong and creepy and downright inconvenient.

At least the loyalty protocols didn’t forbid Swindle from shopping. As far as he could tell, they simply prevented him from taking any direct action against Megatron. Not that he had any particular desire to slag their glorious leader, or to interfere with his pit-spawned master plan. He just wanted out, that was all.

At last! The final page loaded, and Swindle fought his way through the clunky GUI towards the 'select item' button. He could almost taste it; pure, discrete software purge. Beautiful. It'd see to the loyalty programming straight off, and any number of other things he'd rather not have running through his systems. Combiner programming, for example; the gestalt bond. Everything he'd love to uninstall, but couldn't.

He rubbed his hands together, and began to upload his account details.

 

* * * 

 

"It's not _working!_ " Brawl wailed. He writhed on the table, tugging at the leads which Vortex had decided - because it seemed like a good idea at the time - to hold in his mouth. "Ow ow ow ow ow! Watch where you're jabbing your hands, for frag's sake!"

"Tetchiness isn't helpful," Vortex snapped. He yelped as the outer casing of Brawl's laser core grazed across his knuckles. If only Brawl wasn't snivelling like an Autobot, he might have been in the mood to go back for seconds. As it was... that could wait. "Hold still," he said. “Unless you want to be on your back until duty cycle.”

"Just make it stop!" Brawl yelled.

There was a shuffle from the corner; twin points of purple light floated in the shadows. "Stop fighting it," a bored voice said. "The discomfort will fade in a joor or so."

"The shuttle speaks," Vortex commented. Blast Off had a habit of fading into the background; it would have been deliciously creepy if only he meant anything by it. As it was, he was just plain disappointing. "I don't think Onslaught noticed you were here."

"A joor?” Brawl squirmed, his innards shifting. “That's _forever!_ "

Vortex snarled, tugging hard on the leads. Stupid tank. "It's not forever. Remember the Detention Centre? _That_ was forever."

Brawl grunted in pain, and tried to snatch the nearest rotor. "Fraggin' copter!"

"That's it!" Vortex spat out the cables. "You're on your own." He slammed one of the chest plates, trapping leads and wires. Brawl howled. Vortex glared at Blast Off. "Don't fight it, you say. Just give in. What the frag are you? Neutral?"

There was a soft huff of vents, a bright glow of optics, but Blast Off didn't reply.

Vortex stalked out, transforming his hands back to normal as he went. Slagging idiot glitches. Brawl wouldn't know his own capacitor if it stood up and said hello, and as for Blast Off... Several dozen tons of wasted potential. He was so quiet, so still and calm. Capable, in his own way, but unwilling to get his hands dirty. And he was completely ignorant of the effect he had on others. The effect he _could_ have.

If it wasn't for the constant burning itch in his processor, Vortex might have been tempted to go back and educate him, but he just plain didn’t feel like it. The new thought routines were distracting. Not wholly unpleasant, but alien, unwelcome. Loyalty should be earned, not forced.

"Hey, Vortex!" Ramjet called. Vortex flipped him an obscene gesture and kept walking.

"Don't," Dirge warned, but he was too late, as Ramjet stood to a parody of attention and yelled, "All hail Megatron!"

"All hail Megatron!" Vortex responded automatically, his vocaliser firmly in the grip of the new programming. The final syllable dissolved into a snarl, and he spun to face the jets, fingers twitching.

"That was really dumb," Dirge observed. He grabbed Ramjet's arm and tugged him backwards along the corridor.

"C'mon," Ramjet said. "It was funny!"

"Funny?" Vortex queried. He twisted his lips from a snarl to a smile. They hadn't seen him without his battle mask before, he might as well make the most of it.

Ramjet’s grin faltered, his wings swaying.

"I can’t say I found it funny,” Vortex continued. “Want to know what I _do_ find amusing?"

Ramjet pulled free of Dirge and sprinted off along the corridor. Vortex paused long enough to flash Dirge a smile full of promise, then ran after him.

* * *

 

Recharge was impossible. Onslaught slumped in the chair at his desk and scrolled through old mission reports. The loyalty programming squatted in his circuits, fat and watchful, the centre of a web of influence. Tendrils spread through his wiring, branching into each micron of his cybernetic brain, policing his thoughts.

Onslaught brought the raw code up on his HUD. Elegantly written and beautifully effective, it was a never-ending cycle of Decepticon supremacy with Megatron at the centre, the hub and fulcrum. It was uplifting, energising, full of hope for a new future, and tainted just a little with the bitter tang of subservience.

It was irrevocable. Although he could read the code, there was nothing he could do to change or erase it. And it was essential that he kept it, if they were going to remain with the Decepticons. If they wanted any chance of regaining even a shadow of their former influence.

Kaon had fallen, a crumpled shell. The clubs and bars were empty, the streets and tunnels echoing with the footfalls of Shockwave's few active Guardians. He'd seen it on the monitor, thick with metallic dust, smothered in memory. The stillness was repellent, the sense of isolation unbearable.

But it wouldn't last forever. They just needed to bide their time.

"Onslaught, report to the bridge." Megatron’s voice, loud and clear over the PA system. Then Starscream, in the background: "You are _not_ pinning this on _me!_ "

“Silence!”

"On my way," Onslaught replied. His vocaliser added “sir” without his permission, just another little intrusion courtesy of the loyalty programming.

Wondering if he’d ever get used to it, Onslaught heaved himself out of the chair, and made his way to the bridge.

 

* * *

 

"Slaggit, Thrusters!” Brawl yelled. “You're worse than the freakin' copter!"

"Simply cease struggling, and remain calm.” It was a simple instruction, why couldn’t Brawl just obey? Brawl gave Blast Off a look of moronic malevolence.

"Calm? CALM? You've fraggin' welded me to the floor!"

Blast Off sighed. So, this is what he got for trying to help his team mates. Onslaught ignored him, Swindle told him to get fragged, Vortex ran off, and Brawl wouldn't listen. Wonderful.

"I haven't welded you to the floor. It's a complex polymer that will come away perfectly easily with the application of a solvent." Blast Off paused. Brawl was giving him that look again, only this time with an added layer of confusion. "It's just glue, Brawl."

"You've glued me to the fraggin' floor!" Brawl yelled. "I'm gonna rip off your wings and shove 'em up your tailpipe!"

"I don't have a tailpipe," Blast Off said.

"I don't slaggin' care!"

"Just relax," Blast Off said. "You've got eight hundred astroseconds to go, that's all. Seven hundred and ninety eight now... seven hundred and ninety five."

"Not..." Brawl said, his denta gritted so hard they squeaked. "... _helping_."

"I could just leave you here," Blast Off said. "Vortex is certain to come back sometime. We are, after all, in his room. And he didn’t leave here in the pleasantest of moods."

"No you fraggin' don't," Brawl growled. "How come you wanna try and help anyway? You used to be all numbers and stock control and quanti… quan… amounts and stuff, and bangin’ the copter and not talking to us. Why you wanna talk to us all of a sudden? Eh?"

I don’t, Blast Off thought. "This is for your own good," he said.

"Is it frag!" Brawl spat.

Why did Brawl have to be so difficult? No wonder Vortex had given up. But Vortex had approached the problem from the wrong angle.

Helping, Blast Off thought, is difficult; but we’re meant to be a team, so that is what I am doing. He nodded to himself and muted his audial input against Brawl’s inarticulate tirade.

“Seven hundred and forty seven,” Blast Off said. “You’ll thank me when this is over.”

 

* * *

 

Megatron was waiting on the bridge, arms crossed and fusion cannon humming gently. Starscream paced behind him, fists clenching and unclenching, wingtips flicking with every step.

“Explain,” Megatron said.

Onslaught rebooted his optics, and fought the loyalty programming to find the best thing to say.

Vortex slouched against the wall, cuffed and shackled and obviously enjoying himself. Optics dimmed, his tail rotors quivered against his arm. His grey paint ran with pink and black, the liquids forming small puddles around his feet. None of it was his.

Over by the door, Ramjet dangled between Thrust and Dirge, leaking coolant and Sigma knew what else. One wing was missing, the other crumpled. Exposed wiring sparked at his shoulder and knee; it was a miracle he was conscious. The jet glared at Vortex, his intakes wheezing and denta gritted.

Anyone with half a processor could see what had happened. The question was, what did Megatron want to hear? Onslaught assessed the options, but Vortex had already opened his mouth.

“He’s weak,” Vortex said, pursing his lips at Ramjet. “I suggest we scrap him.”

Ramjet lurched, snarling, and Thrust stumbled to keep him upright.

Vortex grinned. “He’s supposed to be the most powerful jet this side of, what? Professor Flounce over there? He is not worthy.”

Onslaught’s engine stalled, his laser core burning cold for one terrible, long moment. Behind him, a pair of null rays began to whine.

Megatron sniffed, a trace of humour in his narrowed optics. “Onslaught, I expect you to exercise control over your team. Reprimand him. You!” Megatron pointed at Dirge. “Take _him_ away.”

Vortex licked a streak of oil from his lips. Onslaught grabbed him roughly by the rotor hub and steered him towards the door. The sooner they were out of there, the better. Especially before Starscream had a chance to explode over the ‘Professor Flounce’ comment. Ramjet hissed, an incoherent stream of almost-words as Thrust and Dirge carted him off in the direction of med bay.

“You’re an idiot,” Onslaught said, as soon as they were out of earshot. He stepped carefully; the floor was slippery with Ramjet’s vital fluids.

“Come on,” Vortex said. “Megsy thought it was funny. So, about this discipline…”

“Reprimand,” Onslaught said.

“Whatever. Your place or mine? Yours for privacy, mine if you want an audience.” The copter thrummed, optics bright.

“Neither,” Onslaught said. “I'm taking you to the brig.”

 

* * *

 

Oh no, this could _not_ be happening. Swindle dived under the console, frantically unplugging leads. The door chime sounded again. Why the slag did they call it a chime, anyway? It was more like a buzz, like someone had cloned Bombshell’s speech impediment (thank frag they hadn’t cloned Shrapnel’s) and decided it was an appropriate noise to let people know they had a visitor.

Or visitors, in this case. Probably two, maybe more. Frag frag frag, this was officially _not_ good.

Swindle activated his internal comms. //Brawl!// he yelled. //Brawl, you lazy slagger, I need you, get your aft over here!//

//Hey, Swin.// The response was calm, mellow.

//What the frag? Are you overcharged? Brawl, they’re after me, you gotta help me!//

//Nah,// Brawl said. //It’s all good.//

The door buzzed again, grating through Swindle’s processor. “I’m on my way!” he yelled aloud. Wincing, he switched back to the hidden frequency. //What do you mean, good?! This is emphatically _not good_. Soundwave is going to have me killed. I'm serious, Brawl! Get over here!//

//It’s like Thrusters said, you just gotta be calm,// came the reply. Swindle checked the frequency; it was certainly Brawl. Funny, ‘cause it didn't’ sound like it. //You just have to wait and it’ll all, like, sort itself out.//

“Frag!” Swindle fumbled with a connector, and the chip containing his account details dropped into a tiny gap between the floor panels. If only it had been grey, like the rest of the metal in this horrid, dull room. But no, it was bright yellow with a red stripe, livery of the Nebulon Central Bank. He tried, unsuccessfully, to prise it out.

“Hey, Swindle, we know you’s in there.” Rumble’s voice, it had to be. No-one implied a threat quite like Rumble.

“I said I’m on my way!” Swindle yelled. If only he could narrow his fingers into claws, like the copter… He added another frequency to his sub-voc comms. //Vortex! Vortex, are you there?!//

//Here.// The response was steely, cold. Could mean anything with Vortex. Swindle cast around, frantic, for something small enough to shove down the gap. There was nothing.

//Vortex, you know I’m your team mate, right?//

//Swindle!// Vortex replied, a gleeful tone entering his voice. //You know I wouldn’t frag you if you were reformatted as a seeker, right?//

//I need you, please! Soundwave’s gonna have me killed!//

//Hahahahaha! Guess what? I’m in the brig. Enjoy dying.// The link cut out.

“Frag you!” Swindle screamed. Too late, his audial receptors rang with the sound of his own voice.

“You got one more chance,” Rumble said. “After which, I got the over-rides to your door code.”

//Brawl, you gotta come,// Swindle pleaded. //Do you wanna be the only leg?// But Brawl had also cut the connection – either that or Vortex had used his freaky access to the gestalt bond to cut it for him. The door pinged, the lock flashing from red to green.

Swindle stood and grabbed a datapad. Too late he realised it was upside down. He put his foot over the gap between the floor plates.

“Hey, Rumble.... Frenzy!” he gave them his widest smile. “What can I do you guys for?”

 

* * *

 

“Hey, Ons, I’ve got an itch.” Vortex leant against the cell wall and rolled his shoulders.

“I bet you have,” Onslaught said. “This is supposed to be a punishment.”

“C’mon, it’s just a little itch. _Please_?” Vortex gestured to the cuffs. “I can’t reach.”

Onslaught activated the energon bars. “Yeah, that’s where it starts,” he said. “You’re not as attractive as you think you are.”

“Sure I am. It’s the rotors.” He fanned them a little, for emphasis. “Ha! Guess who’s comming me? Fragging Swindle.” There was a short pause, then Vortex began to laugh.

Onslaught considered just walking away. It wasn’t as though Vortex could stop him. He sighed. “What’s he done this time?”

“He’s just paranoid,” Vortex said. He fell back onto the berth, holding the cuffs over his head. “You reckon I could chew through these?”

Lying glitch, there was something going on. “No. Where is he?”

There was a moment of silence. Onslaught shifted, uncomfortable, as Vortex accessed the gestalt programming.

“In transit,” Vortex grinned. “Heading north along corridor two, sector five.”

Onslaught forced his fists to uncurl. “Why Swindle?” he said. “Of all the mechs for Starscream to lumber us with. Why him?”

“Weapons knowledge? Outdated intergalactic trade links?” Vortex yawned. “Mistaken identity? OK, this is dull. Tell Screamer I said he’s a useless pile of slag.”

“No,” Onslaught said. He didn’t want to think about where that would lead. “Remember the part where this is a punishment? I want you to keep that in mind.”

“So punish me," Vortex said. "Hey, where are you going?”

“To deal with Swindle.”

 

* * *

 

Blast Off lay on his berth in the dark, listening to the gentle hum of the Nemesis’s systems, and tried to ignore the insistent tug of the gestalt bond. It was Vortex – who else could it be? – and he wanted something.

Blast Off had closed his end, isolating himself from the link as soon as he'd realised what it was. Everyone had, except the copter. Stupid glitch seemed to think that kind of intimacy was a good thing.

Well Vortex could get slagged. Why should he think himself worthy of Blast Off's attention? He'd been nothing but a nuisance since the moment Starscream had brought them back online.

Thank Cybertron Blast Off didn't have to worry about the loyalty programming. It had integrated well, slotting alongside his pre-established routines without overwriting so much as a single line of code. He quite liked it, not that he was about to tell the others. It showed him what he was, and what was expected of him. It was a safety net of sorts. Megatron no longer needed to concern himself with whether or not they were going to send the Earth spinning into the Sun, hence Megatron no longer needed to keep such a close eye on them. Which was good; the Nemesis was hardly a pleasant place to live. Rumour had it the Constructicons were designing them a base of their own. He hoped the rumour was true.

It was a wonderful thought. Somewhere far away from the mess and chaos of the Decepticon army. A quiet place out in the desert, where there would be more than a storage locker between his recharge chamber and the one they'd assigned to Vortex. With any luck, there'd be three whole buildings between them. He wondered, briefly, if he might be able to convince Onslaught to convince Megatron to build his part on the Moon.

The gestalt bond pulsed, an insistent tugging growing stronger with each passing astrosecond. Awkward glitch, why couldn't he just use his communications hardware?

Exasperated, Blast Off opened a channel. //What is it?// he snapped.

//I’ve, uh, got a problem.// Vortex sounded jittery.

//No,// Blast Off said. The gestalt programming gave an uncomfortable twinge. Hadn't he just spent the better part of his recharge cycle trying to help his team? And wasn’t Vortex a part of that team? Regardless of how they'd ended up in this situation and what a considerable pain in the aft he was.

//That was unnecessarily pre-emptive,// Vortex commented, his voice conveying just the right mix of affront and disappointment. Manipulative to the core.

Blast Off sighed. //What do you want?//

//I'm in the brig,// Vortex said. //I was, uh, interrupted with someone. Got a bit of excess energy needs dealing with.//

Blast Off didn't have to ask what he was interrupted doing. Vicious and unprincipled, that was Vortex all over.

//And Onslaught isn't available?// Blast Off said. //Figures.// Too late, he realised how bitter he sounded.

//Hey,// Vortex objected. //It's not my fault you're never around to 'face. You know you don't have to ask, right?//

Blast Off could think of no appropriate response, so he simply said nothing. At least Vortex didn’t seem to be suffering from the programming any more. Although Blast Off had no idea why he should care.

//Come down to the brig,// Vortex urged. //It'll be great, I promise.//

//No it won't,// Blast Off stated. //You'll be all touchy feely, you can't help yourself.// He shuddered. The last thing he needed was fingers in unexpected places. Although the thought of interfacing sent a very small and wholly pleasurable tremor along his back struts. It had been so long... But no, he couldn't do that, not with Vortex in his current state.

//But I'm incarcerated!// Vortex protested. //I'm behind bars _and_ in cuffs, I couldn't touch you if I tried. I know you helped Brawl. Won't you do this one little thing for me? _Please?_ //

 

* * *

 

Swindle had never in his long life been so pleased to see Brawl.

"Been lookin' for yer," Brawl said. "What's goin' on?" He gave the whole scene the once over, a confused flicker interrupting the orange glow of his visor.

Rumble twirled the shock stick like a baton, unperturbed. "We was just doin' your partner here a favour, weren't we, Frenzy?"

"Yeah," Frenzy leered. "We're helpful like that."

"Oh," said Brawl. "Right." He didn't sound as weird as he had over the comm link, but there was still something uncharacteristically subdued about him. Swindle didn't like it one bit. “Vortex commed me to, like, come get him or something.”

Vortex did? Perplexed, Swindle geared up to transmit on a secure frequency, but Frenzy leaned a little closer, his gun butting against Swindle's hip. Swindle paused; that was a warning. Of course, they'd know if he tried to speak to Brawl, no matter how he did it. Pit-spawned rustbucket cassettes.

Brawl gave Swindle that special look, the one which meant, 'help me out here. I'm in over my head, and I have no idea what's going on. I gotta slag these guys or what?' But Swindle had no way of responding. If he said things were fine, Brawl would probably take him at face value and be off on his merry way (and what the pit was he on, anyway?). And if he said the opposite, Rumble and Frenzy would haul him up in front of Soundwave - or worse, Megatron - with all the proof they needed that he'd tried to buy something to erase the loyalty programming, and tried to evade being punished for it.

After which, they'd almost certainly find out who he was trying to buy it from. Very shortly after which, he’d be dead.

Frag, why'd the Quintessons have to be the only ones selling that level of software purge in the first place? At least they were happy to trade through Nebulos; that could give him a level of plausible deniability. Frenzy looked up at him, an unpleasant gleam in his optics; Swindle fought to keep his energon in his tanks. Yeah, right, like Megatron would believe that.

"Hey," Brawl said, his gaze finally resting on the shock stick. Swindle waited; please, he thought, make the connection. Come on... "You're not, like, hurting him, are you?"

Sigma, Brawl was thick. Thick _er_ , Swindle corrected himself. Somewhat beyond his usual level of ignorance. Whatever he'd taken had done a number on his processors.

"Frag off, moron," Rumble said. "This is a security issue."

"Hey!" Brawl yelled. "Who you callin' a moron, shortaft?"

At last, Swindle thought. Brawl took a swing at Rumble just as Rumble and Frenzy transformed their arms and launched themselves at Brawl. But his triumph turned to slag as a large, dark, and horribly familiar shape entered the corridor.

"What the frag is going on?" Onslaught roared. “I leave you alone for half a cycle. Just _half a cycle_ and look at you!”

Swindle’s vocaliser hitched, an involuntary squeak as Onslaught lifted him by the throat. “You,” he growled, and Swindle’s circuits rattled as Onslaught slammed him against the wall. “Are in trouble. And as for you.” Onslaught’s other hand swept around, an open-fisted blow that spun Brawl into the opposite side of the corridor. “What have I told you about assaulting superior officers?”

Brawl stood unsteadily, his engine stuttering. “Them?” he said. “They’re not-”

“They are,” Onslaught growled.

“Slaggin’ right,” Rumble said. “Now, you’re gonna hand back that slimy, no-good-”

Onslaught gave Rumble the briefest of glances. “You might outrank them,” he said. “But you don’t outrank me. I'm taking Swindle. Whatever he's done, his punishment comes under _my_ jurisdiction, not yours.”

Rumble glared and picked up the shock stick; he exchanged a glance with Frenzy. _Back down_ , Swindle thought, _please back down. Onslaught, get us the frag out of here!_

“Ack!” Swindle’s neck plating began to stretch. He clasped Onslaught’s wrist, more to support his own weight than to encourage Onslaught to let go; there was no point in attempting the impossible.

Hefting Swindle as though he weighed nothing, Onslaught shoved Brawl a little way down the corridor.

“Hey, where're you goin’!” Rumble yelled.

Onslaught didn’t bother turning back. “You don’t appear to have been listening,” he said. “This is an internal matter. Reprimanding my team is _my_ business. I suggest you return to Soundwave and make your report.”

 

* * *

 

“It hurts it hurts it hurts!” Swindle dangled from Onslaught’s fist, purple optics flickering pathetically, limbs thrashing at thin air.

“Good,” Onslaught said. When he judged they were far enough from the cassettes, he opened a private comm channel. //So,// he said. //I am about to get an explanation. Brawl, you first.//

//Tex called me,// Brawl replied. //He said I should go find Swindle.//

//Which naturally led to a fist fight?//

Brawl shrugged. He didn’t seem to have an answer, but that was hardly unusual.

//All right,// Onslaught said. //Swindle, it’s your turn.//

Swindle went limp, cables creaking. Onslaught set him down on the floor, but kept his hand firmly around the smaller mech’s throat.

//Keep moving,// he ordered. Swindle’s feet slid around as he struggled to keep his balance while walking backwards. //I believe I made myself clear,// Onslaught said. //You will explain yourself.//

//I… I was…// Swindle stuttered, his chin pressed against Onslaught’s thumb. //I was just trying to help.// He looked up, optics glimmering with contrite sincerity. //I did it for all of us!//

//Really?// Onslaught prompted. //Did what?//

//Got a good deal too. Could get rid of all this loyalty slag.// His vocaliser keened as Onslaught increased his grip.

// _What_ did you buy?// he snarled.

//Software purge,// Swindle blurted over the comm link. //The very best, enough for all of us, I swear! I was just trying to-//

//No,// Onslaught replied. //You weren’t. I know you, Swindle. You were trying to do what’s best by you, and anyone else can just get fragged.//

//Talking of fragging,// Brawl interrupted, still using the private link. He had come to a halt by the outer brig door, one hand on the wall, motionless. Quietly, Onslaught joined him, Swindle clutching at his fingers.

He froze, mouth agape under his mask. Blast Off and Vortex knelt either side of the energon bars; their interface cables stretched taut between them, buzzing with current and vibrating hard, only a foot or so from the harsh glow of the energy field. Blast Off’s head was back, his optics dimmed and posture tense. Inside the cell, Vortex’s cuffed hands twitched, fingers grasping for purchase on the grey of his thigh.

Brawl laughed, and Blast Off’s optics flared. He jerked at the sound, slamming the cables against the glowing bars. “ARGGHHH! Slag oh slag oh slag that hurts!”

“Oh Sigma, yes!” Vortex moaned, as the stench of melting copper filled the air. He clutched at Blast Off’s connector, holding it still within his port until the convulsions of overload had diminished to a tremor. Blast Off vented heavily, cupping the body of his cable away from the glowing, singing bars.

"You need to let go!" Blast Off panted. "Seriously, Vortex!"

“Oh slag, that was good…” Vortex freed the connector and passed it carefully through the gap. He caught the business end of his own cable, then lay back on the floor with a clang.

Blast Off shuddered, shoulders hunched, and fumbled to pack away his damaged hardware.

Onslaught clipped Brawl around the helm with the flat of his hand, and gestured to the next cell over.

“Blast Off,” he said. “When a mech is in the brig, it generally means he’s being punished for something. Do you think that Vortex is in any way an exception?”

“I… uh,” Blast Off stuttered, his vocaliser crackling. “I was simply attempting to, um. Our morale is in severe need... and the, ah, cohesiveness of our team as a gestalt unit…” he trailed off.

“Uh-huh, really,” Onslaught said. “Fragging Vortex in the brig helps unify us as a gestalt. I’ll remember that one.”

“Is that a promise?” Vortex muttered. He twisted to peer at Onslaught, his lip curling as he caught sight of Swindle. “You're not thinking of putting _him_ in here with me, are you?”

“Shut up,” Onslaught said. “We know you sent Brawl after Swindle, so stop pretending you hate him so much.” He fixed his gaze on Blast Off’s visor. “It’s bad for team morale.”

Blast Off had the grace to look ashamed, and made no protest when Onslaught gestured him to the cell beside Brawl’s.

“And as for you.” Onslaught turned to Swindle. “What part of 'Soundwave is always watching us' do you not understand?"

"Soundwave was on recharge!" Swindle protested, fingers scrabbling at Onslaught's hand.

"Soundwave is _never_ on recharge!" Onslaught roared. "Not as far as you're concerned. If he's not watching, his cassettes will be. You’re a pathetic waste of space, Swindle. You’re a selfish, avaricious, unprincipled frag-up of an ex-weapons dealer who's trying to ruin this for all of us. And believe me,” – he gave Swindle another quick shake for emphasis – “if you frag us over, I will hound you unto the very ends of the universe, and _I will make you suffer_. Do you understand me?”

Swindle tried to nod, his chin clanking against Onslaught’s armour. “I get it!” he rasped. “I’m with you.”

“No virus purge,” Onslaught said. “No tampering with Megatron’s code, or with Starscream’s. Because without those, we’re nothing here. Without that programming, we’re just another group of insubordinate glitches one thoughtless action from oblivion.”

“All right, all right,” Swindle said. “I get it, I really do!”

Onslaught sniffed. “You’d better. Because I just saved your life, and I don't want that to be for nothing.” It was satisfying to hurl Swindle into the next empty cell, to watch him land crumpled and small in the corner, a sad little tangle of limbs.

“You think about that,” Onslaught said. “All of you.” He glared at them, four mechs in a row behind the hissing pink bars. “Learn some self control. No talking, no private comms. You’re in here until I decide to let you out. And believe me, that will _not_ be soon.”

He retreated to the guard station and slumped in the chair. Frag, he needed to recharge. But Soundwave would be watching. Sooner of later, he’d comb through the footage, searching for any breach of protocol, any hint of undue leniency.

If Onslaught wanted his team to survive, justice must be seen to be served.

He wished he could thrash them all and be done with it. But the Detention Centre had left its mark on every one of them; incarceration was likely to have more of a lasting impact.

He glanced at the monitors. The four were thankfully silent, obedient at last, lost in their own thoughts. Swindle rubbed his neck, wincing, his fingers streaked with oil. Brawl paced, bored already. Blast Off hunched over his interface hardware, his head in his hands. Only Vortex seemed at all content, sprawled on his back on the floor, shackled hands over his open panel. But the glow of overload wouldn't last long; sooner or later, the isolation would kick in, the energy depletion, the need for company.

What had Starscream been thinking? A gestalt - out of this mess... Onslaught sighed, and entered his details into the console. He pulled up his personal files, opened a new window.

His team was a problem. _His_ problem. And he would solve it.


End file.
